A PSA from newsies to their fans
by SoakEm4Crutchie
Summary: Just what it says on the tin.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey y'all! It's me, SoakEm4Crutchie! Who am I kidding, you don't care who I am, you just want the story. Well, here you go then. The Newsies franchise is not mine, neither are the characters, yada yada yada... Here it is, enjoy.**

A PSA from the Newsies to their fans:

Jack enters an empty, well lit room with white walls and faces the camera.

"Hi guys! If you are watching this you are probably a fan of the movie / stage musical "Newsies". And know that we characters love all of you. Fans are great!" he said.

Davey came in and stood next to him. "We just have a couple things to say regarding your fanfictions. Mostly, the accents."

" And the Original Characters." Added Jack.

The video cuts to Spot. "First off, 'Youse' or 'Yous' does not mean the same thing as 'you' in every instance. 'Youse' is plural; it's the equivalent of 'Y'all'." He explained.

Now Kid Blink is the only one in frame. "A real New Yorker could say 'All of youse' or 'The rest of youse' or 'The two of youse', but not 'Hey Jack, have youse seen my shoe?'"

(The camera cuts back to Jack and Davey)

"Second, STOP WRITING OUT ACCENTS! 'Youse' is acceptable to write out, because it's a word and that is the way it's spelled. Butchering the spelling when you're writing dialogue, or even thoughts, is hard to understand, annoying, and borderline offensive." Said Jack.

Davey continued. "This is fanfiction. Everyone who reads it should already know what the characters sound like, you don't need to drive it into the ground. If you've noticed, a lot of the characters in this PSA have accents. They aren't written out, and it's easy to understand."

(Cut to Boots)

"You don't hear _Harry Potter_ Fanfictions written like this: ''Wot?' Asked Ron. ' I dion't undahstahnd!'' interjected Boots.

(Cut to Spot)

"Or _The Walking Dead_ fanfictions written like this :''Luhk aout Carul, Dere's uh wahkerr buheind ya!''"

(Cut to Jack and Davey)

" So why us? Why do we have to say 'Dat Spa Collon, He maikes me a little noivus!'?" asked Jack into the camera.

(Cut to Kid Blink)

"And also, why are all of your OCs the same? They all have weird colored eyes, beautiful faces, white as a sugar cookie, skinny, unusual talents. Dead mothers, abusive fathers/uncles, found beaten up in an alley, taken to the lodging house, fall in love with a newsie, usually me or Spot. They're all teenagers. They're always girls. They disguise themselves as boys for no good reason… The list goes on.

(Cut to Spot)

" Be creative for christsake! What about a male OC? What about a non-straight OC? What about a non-white OC? What about a fat OC? What about an adult OC? Or a little kid OC? What about an OC that doesn't fall in love? What about a disabled OC? What about an OC that acts like an asshole? What about one without a tragic backstory? What about an ugly OC? The possibilities are endless, and yet almost every one of youse (see how it's used correctly) refuses to change your characters from a boring, self insert in a love story! When will youse ever learn?"

Spot sighed and left. The camera cuts to Jack and Davey.

" Well he got worked up. But really people, be creative!" exclaimed Davey.

(Cut to Crutchie/y)

"For once, can I be in a story that isn't about me dying of some disease? Can I get a romantic partner just once?" asked Crutchie/y.

(Cut to Swifty)

"Can I be in a story?"

(Cut to Bumlets)

"Or me?"

(Cut to Pie Eater)

" Or me?"

(Cut to Jake)

" Me too!"

(Cut to Dutchy)

" Or me?"

(Cut to Snipeshooter)

" Or me? I really want to be in a story where I do something other than steal Race's cigars!"

(Cut to Racetrack)

"Can youse give me interests besides gambling and smoking?"

(Cut to Jack and Davey)

" Come on guys. _Newsies_ is a great movie/Broadway/touring show. We have an inspiring message, that no matter how ordinary, anyone can do something extraordinary. We have an amazing fanbase, who are enthusiastic, excited, and well versed in history class! We have a few stories that are amazingly creative. Let's make more of them that way." Said Davey.

"We fictional characters can't write our own fanfiction, but you fans can. Make your next story something exceptional." Added Jack.

(Blackout)

 **Hope you liked it! Review if you want, don't if you don't, but pretty please with newsie hats on top review. ;D I hope this has inspired the... three? people who read this to write something a little more original.**

 **Until the muses need me again,**

 **SoakEm4Crutchie**

 **(EDIT: I'm back again, y'all! A request has been made in the reviews by ConfessionsOfAGeekyFangirl, that I continue this story with the newsies trying to write their own fanfiction to show us how it's done. I am here to say that yes, I will definitely get on that as soon as possible. I'm a bit busy this week, but it will hopefully be up by at least the first full week of January.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey y'all, it's me again, SoakEm4Crutchie. I... I honestly had no idea where I was going with this when I started writing this chapter. Nothing is mine, and a bunch of stuff got messed up with the fonts and the spacing and words split between lines, so... I'm sorry about the massive block of text, but I can't fix it, so bear with me.**

"Well, our PSA seemed to work." said Jack, looking over the reviews of the first chapter.

"Do you think that'll be enough to make the writers change their ways though?" asked David. "Maybe we should write our own fanfiction so they'll know what we're talking about."

"Good idea, Dave!" exclaimed Jack. "I'll go get the others. I think they were in the break room." Added Jack, turning to leave.

Suddenly, a crash, and then a yell ripped through the air. "Scheiße!"said the voice. Jack began to walk faster. When he looked through the doorway into the community centre breakroom, Dutchy was sitting on the floor in front of the vending machine, holding his foot. The other newsies were sitting at tables, eating candy, and snickering at Dutchy. Upon further inspection, a package of Twix™ was dangling from the metal spiral in the machine, looking like it was about to fall. A small sticker just above the buttons read : "Do not kick, hit, or shake the machine. Doing so may cause bodily harm." "Are you okay?" asked Jack. "Yeah," replied Dutchy, getting up. Jack began to explain David's plan to the newsies, and then led them back to the room they had used for filming, this time with a folding table in the middle with a dark grey laptop on top. David was sitting on a chair, facing the computer, which had a word document open. David turned around to face the group that had just entered. "Okay guys. We're going to show the fanfic writers how it's done and write our own fanfiction story… about ourselves!" "Yeah, cowboy already told us that. What'll it be about?" asked Race. "Um… I don't know. Let's start by picking a category." replied David. "We've got Romance, Humour, Drama, Adventure, Tragedy, Mystery, Horror, Supernatural, Suspense, Angst, SciFi, Family, Hurt/Comfort, and Western." "WESTERN!" shouted Jack. "Now, now, Jack," scolded David, "I'm sure we can find a way to figure this out fairly.." "No, I want to do a Tragedy story." Said Skittery. "Western!" repeated Jack. "Tragedy!" retaliated Skittery. "Drama!" added Spot. "No, Hurt/Comfort!" said Boots. "ENOUGH!" shouted Jack. "Because the real genre we're writing for is western!" A large shouting match ensued. Davey sighed. It looked like he was going to have to use the ol' slips-of-paper-in-a-hat trick. "PLEASE BE QUIET EVERYONE!" David shouted at the top of his lungs. This did not work, because he had a wimpy little quiet voice and no one respected him. Spot gave him a glance and smirked. "EVERYONE SHUTUP!" he yelled, and a hush fell over the crowd. David nodded to Spot in a silent 'thank you' and began to speak to the rather large group of newsies. "Alright. Here's what we're going to do. I will write the names of each genre on slips of paper and put them in a bowl. I'll pick two and those are the genres we will write for. Does that sound fair?" mumbling agreements from the newsies who did not realize this was a rhetorical question were heard as David began enacting this plan. After putting all the slips of paper into the bowl, he also put in his hand and swished it through the paper. "The first genre is… Parody!" announced David as he drew the first piece of paper. He repeated this process, with different results. "The next one is… Romance?" Jack stepped foreward. "Do any of youse actually want to write a romance story?" he asked, and was answered with a chorus of 'no's. "Alright then, I'm drawing next, because obviously Dave can't pick a category that's any good." Jack snatched the bowl and began swishing his hand through, trying to inconspicuously look to find the slip that read 'Western'. "Hey! Jacky's cheating!" shouted one of the newsies, and then all hell broke loose. Skittery ran to the computer and tried to change the genre settings to "Tragedy" whilst Mush tried to get around him to choose "Humor". Spot and Racetrack both tried to grab the bowl from Jack, and when he let go too suddenly for them, the two fell backwards, the bowl went flying through the air and hit Boots in the head, who began sifting through the contents of the bowl. The arguments and shouts of the newsies were heard all over the building, which caused some of the staff to be alarmed. All of a sudden, a blonde woman with a red and white bullhorn slammed open the door. She wore a dark blue shirt that read "New York City Parks and Recreational Services" above the front pocket. The woman was quite pretty, very pale, extremely thin and had purple eyes. A nametag on the other side of the shirt read "Ellie". Ellie pushed a button on her bullhorn and a sound reminiscent of a high pitched foghorn split the air, stopping the newsies in their tracks. She marched into the room. "Hey! You all are in big trouble! There are food wrappers all over the vending room!" she shouted, throwing a handful of wrappers that were found in the trashcan on the floor. "There's little bits of paper all over the place in here!" she yelled, kicking a pile of papers, and then ripping up all of them. "Pick it up and be quiet or I will kick you out of this community centre and call the cops before you can say 'I'm innocent'! Am I CLEAR?!" she shouted, picking up a folding chair and throwing it across the room, and was met with a quiet chorus of "yes ma'am"s and "Sorry ma'am"s. The chair hit the far wall with a smack, and took out a good sized chunk of the drywall. "Good!" She hollered, and left, but not before giving the table a good hard kick, and had David not been expecting something to happen to the computer or its mount and grabbed the laptop, it would have been broken for sure. David picked up the last slip of paper that had not been ripped to pieces. "Humor," he said simply, and sat down at the computer. Snipeshooter had found a broom in a small room labeled "Broom Closet" and began sweeping up the mess. Jack sighed. "Alright guys. We're gonna write for parody and humor." He said. "Does anyone have an idea for a story?" Les, who was sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor responded. "We should write about ourselves writing about ourselves writing about ourselves writing about ourselves writing about ourselves. It could be a Twilight Zone Parody." He said, eyes getting bigger and head tilting to the side as he spoke, so that at the end of his speech he looked very creepy indeed. "Um, okay, we'll keep that in mind," replied Jack. "Anything else?" he asked the crowd. This time it was Kid Blink who spoke up. "What if we wrote about us from the movie meeting the Broadway newsies? That could be cool." He said. "Yeah, that sounds good. Does everyone like that idea?" asked Jack. Various sounds of approval were heard throughout the room. "It's settled then. Dave! Open up one of those word documents of yours. Let's start writing!" he exclaimed. David nodded and complied, and began writing an introduction. (line)  
It was a cold winter's night, and the newsies of New York City were getting tired of snow. "No no no, that's not right." Said Jack. "What's wrong with it?" "'getting tired of snow' doesn't sound emotional enough. Say 'getting sick of snow'" Davey sighed and changed the word. They had planned to meet up at a theater that night, but something was amiss. Davey did not quite understand what it was, but he was sure that his massive intellect would save the day. "Massive intellect? Change that, you're trying to make it sound like you're the hero." said Spot, who leaned over in front of Davey and changed the words 'Davey' and 'massive intellect' to 'Spot' and 'extreme strength and overall awesomeness'. Jack sighed and leaned across, accidentally elbowing David in the face, and deleted the entire last sentence. He wrote in something that he hoped would please everyone. They had planned to meet up at a theater that night, but something was amiss. No one quite understood what it was, but they were sure it would not be a serious problem. "There, is that okay?" asked Jack sarcastically. Jack continued typing. The show proceeded as normal, until about halfway through the performance. That's when a huge hole ripped open in front of the newsies, sucking them all inside. "That makes no sense." said Racetrack, pulling up a chair. "A hole in what? Move, I got this." Racetrack then began typing. The show proceeded as normal, until about halfway through the performance. That's when a swirling vortex appeared right in front of the newsies, sucking them all  
inside! When they looked up, it appeared that the newsies were still in a theatre, but it was quite different. For one thing, it was empty, except for about four people on stage. "About four? If there's only four you don't need to guess." Criticized Spot. Racetrack deleted the word and was about to continue when Kid Blink , using his magic tall person powers, reached over Racetrack and began typing. The four people were the alternate versions of Jack, Davey, and Crutchie from the stage, and some weird girl that no one knew who she was. Kid Blink walked up onto the stage. "Hello up there!" he said, since the stage was actually quite a bit higher than the floor. The girl turned. "Hello. Who are you?" she asked. "Well, I'm Kid Blink, one of the newsies from the strike?" he replied. "Sorry, I've never heard of you. Jack?" she said, turning to the stage version of Jack. "Do you know who this is?" she asked. The stage was small enough that he had noticed and listened to their conversation, and needed no further explaination. "No, sorry I don't."

Kid Blink was surprised. "What?! But I'm from your movie universe! They just kicked me out because I was too historically accah ogivypou ;n,azm

"Hey, what did you do that for?" said Kid Blink, the comment directed at Racetrack, who had just shoved Blink's hands off the keyboard.

"You were making it all about you. And besides, this doesn't make any sense! You made it so that the play versions of us don't know about the movie, when it should be the other way around if both groups don't know about the other! They were based on us! They knew who we were way before we knew about them! And they don't live in a theater, they live in another version of New York! This is terrible."

Kid Blink crossed his arms. "You write it then, if you're so smart!"

"Okay, I will."

The group of newsies left the theater, to see New York City quite a bit different than the way they had left it. There were many more fire escapes.

"Where do you think we are?" asked Mush to no one in particular. Nobody answered, because they didn't know the answer either.

"Why do I always have to be the one who doesn't know anything? I want to write some!" said Mush, who also reached over Racetrack, who was getting mad that people were leaning over him; taking advantage of his small stature.

Mush looked to the right and saw that at the corner of the street there was a newsie, who was selling papes. He had dark brown hair and was wearing a blue shirt and a grey vest.

"You spelled the word gray wrong," said Davey. "It's G-R-A-Y, not G-R-E-Y."

"I think you can use either one." replied Mush.

"Whatever."

Jack appeared to have also seen this person, and he walked towards him. Fellow newsies were usually people they could trust. Jack approached this strange person.

"Hey, um, could you help us? We're in a bit of a situation."

"Sure," said the newsie, "What's the problem? I'm Jack Kelley by the way."

Jack's eyebrows jumped a solid two inches up. His mouth dropped open.

"Butt… Butt… I'm Jack Kelly!"

"Mush, um… I think that's the wrong kind of 'but'." said Blink.

"No it's not. That's the right butt."

"No, that butt with two t's is the other kind of butt, you know, where crap comes from?" Mush blushed.

"Oh." He stepped away from the computer. "Anyone else want to give it a try?" he asked.

Crutchy came forward. Mush stepped to the side and Crutchy, too, reached over Racetrack's head, as he was actually pretty tall. Racetrack growled. If Crutchy heard this, he ignored it. He began by correcting Mush's 'butt's from before and began writing.

"We don't actually know what happened," added Crutchy. "I think maybe we got sucked into a parallel universe or something."The other Jack nodded.

"Well, I'm almost out. Let me just sell these last few papes and then I'll see what I can do." He turned around and began shouting about something, and soon five people flocked over to him, buying all his papes.

"This story is going too happy," proclaimed Skittery. "Let me try."

"Be my guest," answered Crutchy, and Skittery took his place, arms rested on Racetrack's shoulders, leaning over the other boy. This was the fourth person. The fourth. Racetrack had had enough. He jumped up to standing, hitting Skittery in the nose with the top of his head, which would begin bleeding in a few moments. Screaming Italian curse words, he kicked over a folding chair, which happened to have David sitting in it. The door slammed open, hitting Swifty in the gut with the doorknob, since he had backed away from the commotion. Ellie was back. She also joined in with screaming curse words, this time in English, so that all the newsies (including the little innocent ones) could hear. Ellie kicked over the table, successfully this time, and the computer fell to the ground, thankfully not damaged. She grabbed Racetrack by the ear and dragged him out of the building, where the police were assembled.

"Ma'am, step away from the child." Said a rather ugly looking policewoman.

" $ $*$% &##%$ * &! $ *& #$!" said Ellie.

"Ma'am, if you do not release that child I will have to use physical force. Let go of that child."

"$#^#%$* ^ &* $*%# %&#*$!"replied Ellie. The policewoman walked over and calmly tazed and handcuffed Ellie.

Ellie, who did not enjoy being handcuffed, or tazed for that matter, protested,

"I called you guys to take away those kids, not me you %&#%&#%%# s!" she said, but was promptly shoved into a police cruiser.

The policewoman turned to Racetrack. "I'm sorry about her. She called 911 saying that a bunch of kids in the community centre were being crazy and damaging public property. It looks like she was just a madwoman, so go ahead and continue with what you were doing." She said, and Racetrack went back inside.

It appeared that all the other newsies were watching the exchange from the windows, and when Racetrack returned, they began packing up the computer.

"I don't really feel like writing anymore," said Les.

"None of us do," added Mush.

"Well, neither do I. It's been great." Said Racetrack as he walked out the door.

"Hey Dave, what's $%#& mean?"

And that, dear reader, is the story of how the newsies tried to write their own fanfiction.

Fin.

 **Well, to Confessions, I hope this satisfied your request. To all the others, I hope you liked it. Review if you want, don't if you don't. Um, that's about it. See you when the muses strike again (Or someone suggests something),**

 **-SoakEm4Crutchie**

 **Get it? Strike again? cause they went on strike... aaahhh I have no life. :D**


End file.
